Memories
by LadyElwood
Summary: Just a short fic about the developing relationships between the Fellowship :)


Disclaimer's Note: All characters, events, etc. belong to Tolkien.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Rated: K

It was nightfall before Gandalf gave the quiet word for the Fellowship to retire. The Hobbits collapsed upon the rocky ground, uttering broken complaints of aching legs and weary backs laden with bags. Gandalf and Aragorn instantly fell to deep discussion, seemingly unaware of the loud moans around them. Gimli sat upon a log, and began polishing his heavy axe, muttering something quite lost beneath the expanse of his red beard. Legolas stood with elegant composure, staring with peace up at the glittering stars above, and Boromir crouched, sighing, in an attempt to collect some scarce firewood.

'It was never like this in the Shire,' Pippin muttered, reaching for a wafer of lembas bread. 'In the Shire you could always be sure you could return to a warm home, with a roof above your head and a _satisfying _meal ahead of you. It seems years ago since we left the Shire, doesn't it, Mer?'

'It does, Pip,' Merry replied wistfully. 'I remember when I used to come home on winter evenings in the Shire, cold and shivering after spending a day out in the snow. Mamma used to always sit me down by the fire, and sing me to sleep. Mamma Esme had the voice of an angel. She would sing of vast horizons and places where the stars are strange. I always dreamed of visiting those places someday and now here I am, and it is an entirely different affair.'

'Bilbo used to sing to me, too,' Frodo remarked, a dreamy, longing expression settled on his pale face. 'He would tell me stories when I was ill, stories of the adventures he had been on. He told me of battles and alliances, and Quests to faraway lands. I would always imagine that the vast lakes and valleys of the Shire were in fact deserted battlegrounds and palaces, and together Bilbo and I would traipse about the countryside in the spring, pretending we were off on one of Bilbo's adventures.'

Legolas listened with interest. 'You speak of your homeland with fondness, my little Halflings,' he remarked. 'Tell us about it,' he continued, taking a seat beside Frodo, and regarding the hobbits with curious (and slightly amused) eyes.

'The Shire was a home to us all, if you don't mind me saying, Legolas,' Sam broke in, eliciting a chorus of nods from the other three hobbits. 'It was beautiful in the autumn, what with the brown leaves fallin' from the maple trees, an' in the spring, with the gardenias and the appleblossom kind of swayin' in the breeze.'

'The winter was _my _favourite season,' Frodo added, 'what with the white snow blanketing the town.' And quite unexpectedly, tears welled in his piercing blue eyes. 'I don't suppose- I don't suppose I should ever see such beauty again.'

With an expression of concern, Sam placed a warm arm around his master and stooped low so he could whisper soothing words in his ear. 'It's alright, Mr Frodo,' he murmured. 'The Shire will be waiting to welcome us all with open arms soon.'

Frodo sniffed and nodded miserably. A solitary tear rolled down his pale cheek. Smiling reassuringly, Sam fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and softly dabbed at his master's eyes. Frodo returned the smile sadly, and returned to the task of suppressing his sobs.

It was then that, unintentionally, Pippin let out a slight whimper. He glanced shamefacedly around, hoping no-one had noticed. However, it was much to his dismay that he realised Strider was gazing pitifully at him opposite.

'You miss your hometown as well, Pippin,' he said warmly, and Pippin blushed, nodding in embarrassment.

Unexpectedly, Boromir broke in, murmuring sympathetically, 'Fear not, little one. Soon, once the Quest has been completed, we shall all return to our hometowns, and be greeted by our loved ones. Look forward to the moments which will come to pass once the war is behind us.'

Sam nodded approvingly, his arm still around Frodo (who looked ready to issue forth another wave of sobs, which he was having a hard time holding back). 'Nicely said, Mr Boromir,' he agreed.

It was true, Frodo mused as stared meekly up at the deepening, star-lit sky above. As far away as the roaring fire of Bag End seemed, the company of the other members of the Fellowship, combined with the dreams of a better time, would be enough to keep them from succumbing to the ever-present darkness.

Sleepily now, Frodo smiled faintly, dark lashes fluttering as he allowed himself a deep yawn. Yes. Some hope was left in them yet, and with each other's help, it would continue, burning brightly, a flicker of light in a sea of darkness.

Frodo felt himself relaxing, as, like a drug, a wave of beautiful drowsiness closed upon him like a warm hand. Closing his eyes, he gave a small sigh of content, and, in his state of sleepiness, sank into the heavenly comfortable lap of the person beside him. Too tired to care who his makeshift pillow belonged to, he nuzzled into it, and waited for sleep to come.

Legolas looked in amusement down at the delicately featured hobbit face in his lap. He knew of Frodo's strangely elfish attributes, and had developed a fondness for the shy, sensitive, sweet Halfling. He stroked the dark curls softly, murmuring in eloquent Quenya to the half-sleeping form.

And, as Frodo descended into a chasm of wonderfully refreshing sleep, his vague knowledge of the elvish language led to him to understand the words that poured from the elf prince's lips;

_Do not lose hope yet._

FIN

ocument here...


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